Spring
by ktfoo
Summary: Italy finally returns to Germany after the war, to find him broken-and to try to heal him. GerIta, M for implied smut.


Hullo all! Been ages since I actually posted anything here! Wow.

Well, Hetalia is my new obbsession. This piece specifically was inspired by -JansenFriedh827- 's piece, Winter. In case you haven't read it, this piece is set post WWII, and Germany sent Italy away last minute before losing.

M for quite near yaoi smut.

I don't own anything but the story.

* * *

It was dark in Germany's house.

Feliciano wandered through it—it was so much darker than it had been before! And there were cobwebs in the corner! Had Ludwig abandoned it? That was the only reason he could think of for Doitsu to let anything fall into disrepair.

Northern Italy was about to give up his venture, when he heard a coughing fit from upstairs.

He ran into Ludwig's bedroom, already beaming at being able to surprise his friend.

A few years ago, he'd been sent away by Germany—sent to join the Allies, and to watch his old friends fall. Ever since, Germany had kept to himself, alone in his house. Italy had been working off his own debts, and his brother Romano rarely let him out of his sight anymore.

But today—today would be different. He'd been thinking about his friend every day since he'd left: how he might be faring; how their reunion might go. More than one night was spent thinking about their last whispered confessions, in that insane night where his Doitsu had forced him to leave, before they got to him, too.

Finally, finally, he'd be able to see his Ludwig again.

He burst in without knocking. The figure huddled in bed did not move.

After a moment, he took another swig of beer. Feliciano had never seen Germany looking worse. His eyes were sunken and black, his face sallow, his beard unshaven and his hair in a rumpled mess. The Germany he remembered would never have conducted himself this way. Even while asleep he was meticulously neat.

"Doitsu?" Italy asked, inching closer and for the first time afraid of how this encounter might go. Germany responded simply by setting his beer down and staring at his feet.

"Ludwig?" Feliciano took a step this time, leaning down to try to see beneath Germany's hair. The bigger man looked away.

"Are you sick? You aren't looking well. I guess I should have assumed… with what the other countries are doing to you… but they wouldn't let me come, Doitsu! I tried, but I wasn't strong enough…" Tears were already welling up in Italy's eyes. He landed in Germany's lap, desperate to look in his eyes. When their gaze met, there was anger in the icy blue. It cut off Italy's babbling instantly.

"I'm tired of this," Germany growled.

"Of what?"

"This dream. You. Of course I'm sick. God." Ludwig ran a hand through his hair. "Of course I'm sick when you keep visiting me."

"What? Doitsu-kun, this is the first time I've been able to come…"

"No it's not. I'm tired of this dream." With that, Germany collapsed backwards onto his pillows, leaving the confused Italy staring down at him.

"You've been dreaming about me Doitsu?"

"You know that I have. Please leave, Italy. I can't take it anymore."

"But…but I've only just arrived!" There went the damn tears again. And Ludwig had always hated for him to cry—it was so unmanly. Feliciano bit his lip, trying to repress the hot stream of tears.

Germany glanced up at him, and sighed.

"Don't do that."

Italy tried, but he couldn't help himself.

"Damnit, Italy." With that, Feliciano found himself being pulled down on top of his old friend, enveloped in his arms. Germany was thoughtfully stroking his hair, and slowly, Feliciano calmed down.

"Even when I know you aren't real I can't stand your tears," Germany sighed, "I guess I'm really starting to lose it."

"I'm real, Ludwig. I finally got to come back for you," Italy murmured into Germany's neck.

"That's what you always say," Germany replied, burying himself in Italy's hair.

"How can I make it better, Doitsu? I still can't do much, but I'll try, if it will make you well again…"

"Just do what you always do. It's going to happen anyways, and then I'll wake up and be alone again. Alone and crazy."

"You're not alone, Ludwig!"

Germany smiled a sad little smile down to his once-friend, almost-lover.

"I am always alone now, Italy. Make me not feel this way, for the few moments you can."

Italy stared down, still lost.

"Please," Germany said quietly. It was the first time Italy had ever heard him utter the word, and he knew how significant it was—but he still didn't know what to do.

"How do I do that, Doitsu? I could go cook something! Would you like real food?"

"No, Italy."

"Then what?"

A spark returned to Germany's nearly dead eyes.

"You already know, Felici."

The look made Italy blush, and his eyes widened.

"Does Doitsu mean… would you like me to…? Veee…"

"Don't make me say it again." Germany pulled Italy closer with a jolt, and their mouths joined in a hot, hard dance that felt nothing like anything Feliciano had done before. He fondly remembered his kisses with Doitsu from before—and Holy Rome, from so long ago, although they had been so innocent together then—but this was different. His Doitsu felt desperate beneath him, almost crushing him closer.

It certainly felt like Doitsu knew what he was doing. Suddenly Feliciano realized—this must be what Ludwig dreamed about! He pulled back, feeling his face turn bright red.

Germany was panting beneath him, and after a moment Feliciano realized that he was, too. "Don't stop," Germany groaned, "Gott. It almost felt like the real you… Damnit." His entire body went slack, while Italy was still unmoving on top of him.

"Ludwig… look at me."

Germany complied. The tired, sick look had returned to his face.

Italy jumped out of bed. Warily, Germany followed with his eyes. The smaller man had to haul the larger out of his bed, but he persevered.

"I'm up, I'm up. What do you want?"

"I want to cook you pasta."

"What? I don't even like pasta. You never cook for me. Well, not since you left…not the dream you. What are you doing? Let go of me!"

Italy dragged Germany to his own kitchen, lighting candles when he found the bulb burned out.

"Nonsense. Everyone loves pasta! I'll even cut up wurst to flavor the sauce with."

Germany grabbed Italy's wrist, flipping him around and shoving him against the counter.

"This isn't how it's supposed to go," Germany whispered, dipping his head to Feliciano's neck. The things he did there made Italy moan, and the way Germany grinded against him made parts of his body stir in excitement. "We don't have much time until I wake up," Ludwig breathed, "So let me do what I need."

With more will than Italy had ever mustered before, he pushed his Doitsu away.

"Keep your hands to yourself, or you'll get burned. You always told me to be extra careful in a kitchen, Ludwig-kun. Now, I need to chop some garlic."

"What makes you think I stock garlic anymore?"

Dismayed, Italy searched the refrigerator. Then, he turned to the pantry. "I guess the powder will have to do… hmm…dry noodles, yes, canned tomato sauce… hmm… none of the homemade jars I left you. I guess you like pasta after all, or you wouldn't have eaten it, Doitsu! I knew you loved my cooking!"

Italy turned around, arms full of ingredients. Germany looked at him with the most agonizing expression.

"Yes. I always loved your cooking, Italy."

After a moment, Italy turned away, and began unloading the food on the counter. "Well, then, it's your lucky day, because for the first time in years, you get my authentic, homemade…pasta!"

Germany seemed content to lean against the wall and watch Italy cook for the better part of an hour. Occasionally he coughed, but Italy thought he looked much better than he had in bed moments ago. Finally, after great demonstration, Feliciano whirled around to flourish the plates.

"Ta-da! Pasta for Doitsu!"

"Why are you doing this?" Germany asked.

"Because! I bet you've eaten nothing but beer and cough syrup for three weeks. It's not healthy! Plus, I know you missed eating delicious food! You've had no one to cook but yourself! You're a lot better than England, but that's not saying much, Doitsu-kun."

Germany just smiled, shaking his head a little and taking his plate.

They ate, and Italy chattered about life outside Germany's house. America was doing really well, but Russia was getting scarier. Japan had finally fallen, too, but it was starting to look like everyone might finally be friends. There were no more German tourists, though. Italy was missing them, even though they used to scare him.

After leaving all the dirty dishes in the sink, which Germany barely even gave him a scolding look for, Italy led his love back upstairs. He steered him towards the bathroom and began drawing water.

"Oh? Is this the way you'd like it tonight?" Ludwig murmured, running his hands over Feliciano's body. Italy bit his lip, and did the next bravest thing he'd ever done.

"Germany, you stink."

"What?"

"You smell like stale beer, and beer isn't good even when it's fresh. Not to mention I could fry potatoes with the grease in your hair."

Germany glared at Italy like he was speaking a different language, but Italy was sure he was speaking plain English—the common language of the Nations nowadays—and not any native dialects. So, he stripped a stunned Germany and forced him into the tub.

It would be a lie to say he didn't look 'there.' Germany was still excited from earlier—or maybe it was all over again. Either way, Italy almost passed out from embarrassment (or was it nervousness? Excitement?) before he looked away.

He forced soap through Ludwig's tangled hair, and rubbed a sudsy cloth over the rest of his body. Somehow he magically found the will to stop when Germany tried to pull him into the water, too, or tried to make him clean between his legs.

"But I'm dirty there, too, Felici." Ludwig's voice went dark and husky, and Feliciano had shivered.

"Then clean yourself!" Italy left the rag in the water, jumping to cower on the other side of the bathroom. Ludwig sighed, and simply complied. Italy ran to the bedroom and back as quickly as possible, but Germany was already toweling off when he returned.

"I brought pajamas, Doitsu! They looked comfortable and still mostly clean!"

"Do we need clothes, tonight?"

"Of course, Doitsu!"

"You're a strange dream."

Italy shoved the articles into Germany's hands, and left the bathroom. He changed into the only other wearable pair of sweats in Germany's room. There was no shirt, however, that didn't smell the way Ludwig had for the past few weeks.

So, Germany walked in to a shirtless Italy sprawled across his bed. Germany had closed his eyes and gone motionless.

"Are you really going to insist on an innocent night? This is my dream, you know. It's not really fair."

"Yes, Doitsu."

"Well, then, you'd better wear this," Germany said, stripping out of his shirt and tossing it at Feliciano.

While Italy dressed, Germany slid into bed. In moments Italy was with him beneath the covered, cuddled against his side.

"This isn't so bad, is it, Doitsu?"

Germany looked down at Feliciano, who was now nuzzling into his bare side. "No. It's not so bad."

Italy looked up at him.

"And when you wake up and I'm still here, will you believe I'm real?"

"That's never happened. And it won't."

"But if it does? Will you believe me, Doitsu?"

Ludwig sighed. "I suppose I'll have no choice. Either you'd be real or I'd have finally gone off the deep end."

Italy beamed. "I can't wait for morning then! This is even better than Christmas!"

With that, Italy wrapped himself around Germany and fell asleep.

Germany lay awake for many hours before finally succumbing himself.

* * *

Germany awoke to warmth, and light, and comfort. He let himself bask in the glow of his dreams a moment longer—his sometimes-vulgar, sometimes-innocent, ever-perfect dreams—and then opened his eyes.

Feliciano was above him, stroking his hair.

"You finally woke up, Doitsu-kun!"

Germany's heart stopped.

This never happened.

This wasn't part of the dream. The dream, his one escape, always ended by morning. But Felici was still here, and sunlight beamed in through his dusty windows. Who'd let the windows become so dirty? Felici could get sick…

Ludwig looked back at Feliciano, who was still smiling. His smiles never ended. It was so damn annoying sometimes, because it was so endearing. Italy always smiled.

The dream could never compare to the beam of light that was his Italy.

"Yes. I finally did."

He pulled his Felici against him again. "I'm sorry you had to see me as I was last night. I'll shave immediately."

"Not yet, Doitsu-kun." Italy nuzzled his lover's beard. "It's not so bad."

"No? Later, then." He lazily stroked Italy's hair. "I suppose here is good for now."

"Very good, Ludwig."

They stayed there for a long time, sprawled and intertwined.

"There's just one thing, Ludwig…"

"Yes?"

"You've been dreaming of me this whole time?"

"Well…yes. I'm sorry about that as well. I realize that I was…very forward, last night, and you probably weren't expecting—"

Feliciano silenced him with a finger to the lips, which Ludwig kissed.

"I don't mind, Ludwig. It just seems unfair."

"Unfair?"

"All this time, you've been having fun without me! I'm going to have to work hard to catch up to all the fun you've had…And I hate working hard, ve!"

Germany raised an eyebrow.

"I think I can make it worth your while."


End file.
